


Hiraeth

by Iarollane



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Other, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 17:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21480043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iarollane/pseuds/Iarollane
Summary: Hiraeth: the longing for a lost time or place.The miscellany adventures of Majin Surana, starting from her earliest memories.
Kudos: 4





	Hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

> Some warning because of an implied reference to the rape of other characters- non-explicit. Additional warning for the slavery/slavers. And one more for non-explicit deaths

She could barely remember her mother, just the scents of the herbs she'd worked with, and the sounds of the mortar and pestle grinding in time to soft humming. The feel of fingers gently brushing her hair as she fell asleep. Those were what she chose to remember, anyway. Better those than the smell of blood and burning aravels, the screaming suddenly cut off, or the harsh rope binding her arms and legs together.

Better the soft creak of the aravels moving and the gentle sounds of the halla, rather than the harsh gait of a horse drawn cart, packed full with every child the bandits could find. Against her wishes, she remembered the harsh laughter, the pain of needles on her face, forcing a mockery of vallaslin on her, and the crying of the others, a few taken every night to receive the same. Marking them as property.

She tried to forget the weeping of the older girls, huddled in on themselves after their turns. They were always kept longer, to 'entertain' the bandits. She hated to remember the stories that drifted to their cages from the evening fires. The bandits boasted, telling each other what they'd do when they reached far enough north to sell off their stock. How high they could drive the prices for such young, easily trainable elves as slaves. What they could do to the elves to begin breaking them.

She didn't really understand it all, not really, she was far too young, but she could see the fear in the eyes of those older than she. And she saw the hope blossom in their faces when the bandits began to scream themselves, only to fade again when the children saw it wasn't their kin come to save them; it was shemlen coming for their own revenge against the ones raiding livestock and killing townsfolk.

She and the other children had been taken to the local Chantry after, until they could be fostered into 'proper' homes. She didn't like the Chantry. It felt cold and alien, the Sisters caring for them only because there was nowhere else for them to go. But she knew, in a distant way, that there was never going back to the aravels, or her mother.

And then she'd made a mistake. It **had** been a mistake, to try to impress the Mother of that place by lighting the candle on her desk with a bare thought. She'd found herself quickly pushed into a room, the door locked behind her for three days, only opening long enough for water and bread to be pushed through each morning. When she was finally let out, five large men in armor were waiting for her. They watched with wary eyes peering at her through slits in their helms, as the Mother explained that they'd done everything they could think of to test the rest of the children, and This One was the only one cursed with magic.

She was terrified, and adamant that they'd never see it. So she watched them right back, blue eyes wide and unblinking and chin up in a stubborn tilt, until one knelt beside her and pulled off his helm. He reached into one of his pockets, and pulled out a small candy wrapped in wax paper. He held it out to her, waiting patiently. Finally, carefully, she took it from his hand, holding it tight within her own.

None of the others had been mean, precisely, but he'd been the only one that was nice. She remembered him. He'd had light brown eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled. He said his name was Donnel.

They took her away, and they traveled. It wasn't so bad, the traveling. It reminded her a little of home. Three of the men- templars, she was told- left to follow other roads, leaving her with Donnel and another templar that never spoke to her.

She would have been content, if this had been the whole of her life. But she never recieved warning of a change, not until the two templars turned the horses off the main road. She could see a tower rising in the distance, amidst the glittering of the sun on water.

Donnel guided her, helping her into the small boat, showing her where to hold on as they traversed the lake, one hand resting on her shoulder as they walked through the great doors at the base of the tower. More templars waited there, and an old man in robes who gave her a kind smile.

Donnel knelt in front of her one last time, ruffling her hair and telling her to be good, and then he was gone.

The old man introduced himself as First Enchanter Irving, and led her deeper into the tower. She didn't cry when they pricked her finger, letting blood drip into the glass vial. Once that was done, glowing and taken away by one of the ever-present templars, he sat with her at his desk, a cloth-covered meal on a tray between them. He offered her the food, a simple fare. It was different than what they ate in the clan, but she was hungry enough not to care.

"What is your name, child?"

"Mayin." She didn't elaborate.

"You were from a Dalish clan, child?" he asked. She nodded warily. His eyes moved over the marks, already mostly healed over her right cheek and around her eye. "Donnel sent word ahead. I'm sorry about your family." She didn't reply, the food in her belly suddenly turning into a lump. "This is to be your home, now. Here, you can learn how to control the magic inside you."

"Why can't I go to one of the other clans?" she asked him mulishly.

He shook his head. "Outside of the tower, people fear us, with good reason. Here, you can be with others like yourself, learning how to read and write, learning the discipline needed to control the great forces of your magic."

"I can write!" she protested indignantly. Irving raised an eyebrow. "A little," she amended. Under his steady gaze, she ducked her head. "I know how to write my name," she muttered.

"In the common tongue?"

She thought seriously for a moment, then nodded. "Hahren Pura started to teach me the letters humans use," she said proudly. "It seemed simpler than Elvhen ones. I can figure it out."

Irving laughed at how confident she was, while pulling over a piece of paper and a quill. "Here. Why don't you show me?"

She played with the feather for a bit, feeling how lush it was. The ones the clan used were all from whatever wild birds the hunters brought back. This one was a pretty white one, with three black stripes leading out from the spine towards the end.

After admiring it for a time, she started making large, clumsy letters. Over and over, she wrote her name on the crisp page.

Irving hummed as he watched, raising an eyebrow. "That's very well done, child. But did you mean to use a 'y' there? It sounds more like a 'j' sound." He gently took the quill and showed her. "There. Like this. Majin."

She laughed and crinkled her nose, then winced when the healing skin pulled. Her fingers automatically came up and traced the edges on her cheek, her lips turned down in a grimace.

"Do they still hurt, child?" Irving asked gently. She nodded slightly. "I'm not the best at it, but I know a little healing. Would you like me to make it feel better?"

"Can... can you make them go away?" she whispered.

"I'm sorry. They've been there too long, child. I can heal them so they no longer hurt, but the marks themselves will remain." He sounded resigned.

She looked down at her hands, her lips pressed tight to keep them from trembling. She sniffed, a single tear rolling down her cheek, then she straightened and nodded. "I'll leave them alone, then. So I can remember my clan."

"Alright, child. Alright."

==

She couldn't sleep.

It wasn't that the first few nights in the tower were frightening and disconcerting; they were, though not as much as her time with the bandits. It wasn't even that she was unused to the sounds of people sleeping all around her (she wasn't), or that the bed they gave her was too soft to be comfortable (it was.) It was some combination of all of these, but mostly that she didn't feel safe, sleeping in a big open room, even with others around her.

After trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep yet again, she pulled the blanket and pillow off, and went off to find somewhere she could be comfortable, and preferably hidden. She prowled through the dormitories, searching for an out of the way spot.

"Hsst! What're you doing? You're supposed to be in bed already!" a voice hissed at her in the darkness, making her jump. A boy rose up out of his blankets, dark hair disheveled, and a line on his face from his pillow. He swung his legs out of his bed, glancing up at the apprentice in the top bunk. Once he saw that they were still sleeping soundly, he grabbed her arm and started pulling her towards the door.

She refused to shrink away from him, never mind that he was at least three years older than she, but that resolve didn't stop her from yanking her arm out of his grasp.

"If you're looking for things to steal," he started saying.

"I'm not!" she protested.

"Then why are you out of bed?" He looked at the bundle in her arms. "Are you going to try to run away?" he asked quietly.

She looked down at the blanket and shook her head. "Nowhere else for me to go."

"You're new to the tower, aren't you?" he asked. She nodded. "Can't get used to the people?"

"It's not that." She didn't continue at first, but he didn't say anything, just waited. Embarrassed, she just said, "I miss mamae."

"I know. Most of us do, even if we don't say it."

A pillow came flying out of the darkness near them, falling to the ground by their feet. "You two might not want sleep," a voice said, "but I've got a history test tomorrow. Stuff it!"

"Stuff yourself, Amell!" The boy picked up the pillow, then grabbed her hand. "Come on, I'll show you a good hiding spot." She resisted for a moment, looking from the pillow to the dark bed it had come from. "Don't mind Ehvin, he hates history, always thinks he's going to do terribly and get assigned punishment work," he chatted amiably as he guided her through the maze of beds.

As they crept through the halls, he whispered, "Just so you know, you were in the boy's dormitory. It might be a good idea to stay out of there, especially at night." She looked at him sidelong, not sure what he meant. "Nothing like that!" he added hastily. "But a lot of the boys like to make traps between the bunks. Try to one up each other, too. It can get dangerous, until the enchanters have enough and force everyone to dismantle them." He slowed, then stopped. "Right. Here we are."

'Here' was an odd bend in the hall, with two massive statues close to one another. Confused, she pulled her hand from his. He didn't notice, instead kneeling by the feet of the statues. He turned, waving her close, then somehow crawled **into **a space behind the wall.

Surprised, she followed. It didn't lead to a big area. It was barely big enough for both of them curled up. "No one will look for you here," he said. "Just be careful, and try not to get caught; that hall can get busy after the breakfast bell."

He started shifting back through the opening. "Thank you," she said. He gave her a bright smile. After a moment, she offered, "My name is Majin."

"Jowan." He tilted his head and said wryly, "Now if that's all, I'll head back to bed now. That history test is likely to end with **me **going to punishment, and I like to be well rested while cleaning the library tables."

And then he was gone.

She arranged the blanket and pillows, making a nest, and curled up in it. It wasn't home, but at least some of the apprentices were nice, she reasoned, and fell into a light sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> In the beginning, she spelled her name Mayin, but it was still pronounced Mah-jin; I remember reading somewhere that in Elvhen, J is pronounced with a Y sound, so I thought perhaps J and Y were switched, making Y act the way it does in Spanish in our world. Hence why Irving ends up correcting her.


End file.
